The Strength of Women
by GiannaG
Summary: History does not lie only on the backs of men. These are the stories of the women who changed the world of Game of Thrones.
1. Chapter 1: Artemis & Gianna

_**Author's Note: Some of these characters are mine. Most of them aren't. Rickon doesn't exist in this, like many other characters, in order to make space for the new ones. This was written mostly for fun for some of my friends. This first chapter is pretty much exposition to familiarize those previously unfamiliar to Game of Thrones.**_

* * *

Artemis collapsed next to the two heaving bodies beside her. She had just finished a thrilling romp with one of the Starkʼs wards Theon Greyjoy and the beautiful red-headed whore Ros.

"Not bad ladies," Theon breathed. "I expect you two enjoyed yourself."

Ros rolled her eyes. "I expect you didnʼt have too bad a time yourself. Youʼre welcome by the way."

Artemis laughed. Their sharp wit and humor is what made the two of them so endearing to her.

Theon stood, sweat glistening down his chest, and began to pull on his clothes.

"Leaving so soon?" Artemis questioned.

"Some of us have duties to attend to," Theon rebuffed.

"Oh yes, Iʼm sure the kitchen staff were quite concerned when you didnʼt show up to eat all their food this morning," said Ros.

Theon paused. "You speak too freely. Perhaps someone should teach you a lesson."

Ros smirked. "Donʼt worry Theon, Iʼm sure Artemis is more than up for the job."

Theon smiled mischievously and ran a hand through his matted light brown hair. He winked at the two girls, grabbed his shirt, and left the room.

"Well? Surely, you wonʼt disappoint me?" Ros whispered to the green-eyed brunette beside her.

"I have to be in needlepoint class in an hour," Artemis murmured, nuzzling against the beautiful girlʼs neck.

"More than enough time then," Ros said.

At that, Artemis grabbed the other girlʼs hair, planted a rough kiss on her lips, and climbed back on top for another round.

* * *

Later that afternoon, five young ladies practiced needlepoint in a small, dimly lit room. Septa Mordane was fawning over Sansa Starkʼs work per usual.

Sansa was thirteen and the eldest of the two Stark daughters. Her younger sister Arya sat on the stool beside her, struggling to rethread her needle. The nine-year- old girl glared at her older sister. She hated how perfect Sansa was sometimes. The older Stark girl was tall, beautiful and thrived at all things ladylike. Meanwhile, Arya couldnʼt stand sitting still or silent, would rather be playing knights with her brothers or sprinting around the forest with her friend Mycah, and she was often mistaken for a boy when she was covered in dirt.

Across the room three other girls sat gossiping: the Starkʼs cousin Kahlan Karstark, the Master of Horseʼs daughter, Artemis Hullen, and the Starkʼs ward, Gianna Targaryen.

"Fine work as always, Sansa! Well done. I love the detail," crooned the septa.

Arya rolled her eyes. She could hear the boys laughing outside and furrowed her brow at the unfairness of it all. She glanced to make sure the Septa wasnʼt watching before trying to catch Artemisʼs attention. After much shuffling around and heavy sighs, the older girl finally looked over. Artemis listened to the boys' shouts, and sympathized with the young girlʼs pain.

"Oh Arya, you look positively pale," Artemis gasped, her deep-set green eyes wide with mock surprise. Before the Septa could get a closer look, she quickly pulled Arya over to the door.

"Not to worry, Septa. Iʼll get her to Maester Luwin right away. She probably just needs a quick herbal pick-me-up."

Kahlan and Gianna exchanged knowing looks as they watched their friend exit the room and head towards the courtyard.

* * *

Out in the courtyard, Bran sighed as another arrow missed the target. The ten year old boy had been practicing all morning and had yet to hit the bullseye painted haystack. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders.

"Go on. Father is watching...and your mother."

It was Jon, his half-brother. Jon was born a bastard, conceived during the war known as Robertʼs Rebellion. Their father and Lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark, had come home from the war with him when he was just an infant, much to the disdain of Branʼs mother, Lady Catelyn Stark.

Jon was six years older than Bran, and he had the height and toned muscles to prove it. They both took after their father appearance-wise though. They all had the same dark, serious eyes and thick dark hair - Jonʼs curly and Branʼs straight as the arrow he was desperately trying to aim.

Behind Jon, the eldest Stark boy, Robb, stood with his arms crossed in disapproval. Robb was also sixteen, and he shared Jonʼs height and muscular build. However, his curly auburn hair and light blue eyes were inherited from his mother, Lady Catelyn.

The two older boys were talented with the sword and the crossbow, and they had been trying to help their younger brother practice.

Bran looked up behind him at his mother and father watching expectantly from the balcony. He took a deep breath and nocked another arrow.

It flew past the target again, missing it by a long shot. The older boys laughed wildly at the mistake, causing Bran to angrily throw his bow to the ground.

Their father called out from his perch. "And which one of you was a marksman at ten? Keep practicing Bran. Go on."

The brothers laughter quickly died at their fatherʼs stern words. Bran picked up his bow and grabbed another arrow.

"Donʼt think too much Bran," whispered Jon. "Relax your bow arm," added Robb.

An arrow flew straight into the bullseye with speed and accuracy. Problem was, it didnʼt come from Bran.

The boys whipped their heads around to see Artemis with her arms around Arya, helping her to guide her bow.

It was no secret that Artemis was very athletic and had a talent for archery. She had been discreetly teaching Arya her tricks for months now.

Artemis flicked back her long brown hair and curtseyed. Arya copied her, and Bran (embarrassed by his sisterʼs showmanship) chased her out of the courtyard. Artemis followed close behind, undoubtedly to try and untangle the two mid-brawl.

Loud laughter echoed throughout the courtyard, drawing the other ladies out of their study room.

* * *

A few hours later, Gianna, Artemis, and Kahlan had finished their lessons and were now watching the stable hands quickly work to saddle the horses.

"Dancer doesnʼt use that saddle, Caleb," Artemis lectured. As the Master of Horseʼs daughter, the stable was like a second home to her. She quickly scurried off to help.

A deserter of the Nightʼs Watch had been found, and was to be executed. So all the menʼs horses would need to be readied for the ride out to the execution site.

The Nightʼs Watch was a centuries-old order that stood guard at the Wall, an immense ice border at the farthest reaches of the North. They took their vows for life, and desertion was punishable by death.

Artemis and Gianna would ride out with the men. Artemis was an only child. After her mother died, her father never remarried making Artemis his only heir. He insisted that if she was to become the Master of Horse someday, she would need to know all that it would entail.

Gianna on the other hand, had argued with Lord Stark for months before he agreed to let her come on such outings. After all, it was no place for a lady, and Gianna was from noble lineage. However, she had insisted that in order to properly aid her future husband she would need to know how nobles served justice.

Kahlan and Sansa, like many others, couldnʼt wrap their minds around why their peer would subject herself to such a gruesome scene. But truthfully, Gianna was never one for convention.

She was an orphan born to a Targaryen father and Baratheon mother. After the war and the Targaryen slaughter, the infant Gianna was allowed to survive only because of a fondness King Robert Baratheon had for her deceased mother. The new King had sent her to live with the Starks of Winterfell as their ward.

The hatred King Robert bore in his heart for the Targaryen side of her always lingered in the back of her mind though. One wrong move and it would be a swift execution for her too.

"I wish there was another way," Kahlan sighed as her friends mounted their steeds.

Gianna looked down at her sympathetically. "Me too."

Artemis rolled her eyes. "A deserter doesnʼt deserve your sympathy. After all, he knew what the punishment would be." She kicked her horse into a gallop towards the hillside. Theon chasing close behind her, per usual.

Gianna threw one last comforting look to Kahlan before riding off after the others.

* * *

The party all rode over the hillside, banners held high. The group consisted of Lord Stark and all of his men (including Artemisʼs father), Robb, Jon, Gianna, Artemis, and much to Giannaʼs surprise, Bran, who previously had always been considered too young to witness these things.

Gianna felt the cold air sting her face, her dark chocolate hair whipping around her. Two of Lord Starkʼs men dragged the deserter towards the execution stone. The man was small, thin, quite bedraggled and was murmuring to himself incessantly.

 _He looks quite like a weasel,_ Gianna thought to herself.

As he came closer, she could start to make out what he was saying.

"Whitewalkers...whitewalkers...whitewalkers...I saw them."

He was breathing heavily, and Gianna found she was quite shocked by how clear his bright blue eyes were. Nothing like the crazed madness she had expected.

"I know I broke my oath," he said loudly. "I know Iʼm a deserter. I should have gone back to the wall and warned them, but I saw what I saw. I saw whitewalkers. People need to know."

The men in the party glanced at each other uneasily. Whitewalkers had been extinct for thousands of years. Many believed the ancient race of humanoid ice creatures had never existed at all. They thought the zombie-like beings were just a myth made up to scare children at night, like ice spiders and giants and other creatures that roamed north of the Wall. However, the firmness and determination in this manʼs voice, made it clear that he truly believed in what he was telling them.

 _He must be delusional_ , Gianna thought, but something deep inside her wasnʼt so sure.

"Get word to my family," the man continued. "Tell them Iʼm a coward. Tell them Iʼm sorry."

"What is your name," Lord Stark asked.

"Drake Ward, my lord."

Lord Stark nodded solemnly as he grabbed his large Valyrian steel sword, Ice. The men pushed the deserter to the ground, laying his head flat against the large rock.

He began, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm..."

"Donʼt look away," Gianna heard Jon mutter to Bran. "Father will know if you do."

"...I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

No one flinched as the large sword was brought down upon the manʼs head. Ned Stark was a merciful man, and per usual it was a quick and clean cut.

Gianna reached a comforting hand to Branʼs shoulder. "You did well," she murmured.

These things had never bothered her or Artemis much. She assumed Artemis was so used to hunting and the cold wilderness that nothing much bothered her anymore. Gianna on the other hand, had always known what it took to lead. She felt it in her blood. Sometimes these were hard truths that had to be faced. Itʼs the same reason she had insisted on being trained in weaponry with the boys and Artemis. One could never be too prepared.

She looked back at Bran. "Do you understand why your father did it?"

The young boy looked back at her with wide brown eyes. "Because he was a deserter?" he asked hesitantly.

Gianna persisted. "But do you understand why your father had to kill him?"

"Our way is the old way," the boy tried again.

Gianna nodded. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

Bran was silent for a long moment. Eventually he spoke again.

"Is it true he saw the whitewalkers?"

Artemis suddenly appeared behind him. "Donʼt be silly. The whitewalkers have been gone for thousands of years," she scoffed.

"So, he was lying?"

Gianna glared at her friend. "A mad man sees what he sees." —

The party began their ride back to Winterfell, but halfway home stopped at a large dead stag near the path. Confused at what could have killed the monstrous beast, the group paused to investigate.

"What killed it?" Jon asked. Theon replied, "Perhaps a mountain lion?"

"There are no mountain lions in these woods," Artemis retorted, and she was right. Laying nearby was the dead body of a huge giant of a wolf, surrounded by six tiny, very much alive, wolf pups.

Theon started at the sight of the beast. "Itʼs a freak!"

Lord Stark hopped off his horse to approach the monster. Gianna followed close behind him despite his disapproving look. She had a tendency of overstepping her boundaries.

"Itʼs a direwolf," Lord Stark said calmly though he was clearly rattled. "There are no direwolves South of the Wall," said Robb.

"Now there are six," Gianna retorted.

"Where will they go," asked Bran. "Their mother is dead."

"They donʼt belong down here," said Theon. "Better a quick death. They wonʼt last long without their mother."

Lord Stark nodded solemnly.

"Give it here," Theon ordered Bran.

The older boy drew his dagger and went to rip the wolf pup from Branʼs arms.

Bran yelled, "No!" Gianna quickly stepping between them.

"Put away your blade," Robb ordered seeing the distress on the girlʼs face. Gianna looked up at him gratefully.

"I take orders from your father, not you."

Bran and Gianna turned their pleading eyes to Lord Stark, and finally after several long moments, he acquiesced.

Gianna handed the pups to the men to carry home for the five Stark children to keep as pets, secretly keeping the smallest, weakest runt for herself.

Robb watched the girl as she gently stroked the small, whimpering creature. She was so gentle and so wise. It never ceased to surprise him. She had always been that way. Even when they were young.

* * *

 _"Keep up, Robbie," the little girl yelled behind her. The two were racing Artemis, Jon and Theon through the trees and dirt paths of the Godswood that surrounded Winterfell. Robb sprinted to catch up, already out of breath. He went to wipe the sweat from his brow. Had he not looked up at that exact moment, he wouldʼve crashed right into Gianna who had stopped running and was currently huddled over something on the forest floor._

 _"What is it?"_

 _Gianna held her hands up so he could see the tiny baby raven. Its wing was broken, and it was clearly panicking. Moments later Theon caught up to the duo. Robb could hear Artemis and Jon not far behind._

 _"Give up?" the young ward asked mockingly before noticing the small bird. "Ugh, leave that thing alone. Itʼs a better mercy to let it die."_

 _Gianna glared at the boy._

 _"If you want to know what a man is like Theon, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. Even the smallest of creatures deserves our respect."_

* * *

Robb snapped out of his reverie. He didnʼt know when his feelings for the girl had changed from brotherly to something much less so, but they definitely had.

His attention was redirected however by Artemis's shouting.

"Race you guys back to the castle!"

Robb shook his head and smiled, quickly kicking his horse into a gallop.


	2. Chapter 2: Kahlan

_**Author's Note: Mostly more exposition and character introduction, but next chapter we finally get to see what's happening outside of Westeros with the Dothraki.**_

* * *

It had been several months since the wolf pups had been found, and they had been growing more quickly then anyone could have expected.

Artemis could here them howling outside as she lay with Theon and Ros. Their limbs entangled on the large feather bed of the whorehouse.

"You ladies continue to surprise me," Theon breathed.

Ros laughed. "There's quite a few things you don't know, Greyjoy."

Artemis laughed and continued threading her fingers through Ros's long red hair.

"Well I know some things you don't know too," Theon said.

Blue and green eyes under long lashes were suddenly filled with curiosity. The two young women looked up at him expectantly.

"The Hand of the King has died."

"Jon Arryn?" Artemis gasped. "He was like a father to Lord Stark, was he not?"

Theon hummed in agreement. "And the King like a brother."

* * *

As soon as the three had cleaned up, Artemis excused herself. She beelined for a small stone building outside the walls of Winterfell. Inside, she found her two friends exactly where she expected to. On the floor of the orphanage surrounded by children, sat Kahlan and Gianna. Artemis rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

 _Ah the soft hearts of women_ , she thought sarcastically. What would these little orphans think if they knew how quickly Gianna could cut through a man with a blade, or how quickly Kahlan could reduce a man to begging with her sly charm.

Kahlan looked up first. Her soft dark blonde hair falling in her face.

"Hey Art," she said smiling. She gestured for the children to give them a moment alone.

Kahlan had a grace and charm about her that put people at ease. She was highly intelligent as well. Fortunately for others, her heart was as pure as it seemed, and she used these traits to help others...unless there was a really good reason to use them selfishly.

Artemis shooed the rest of the children away impatiently.

"I have news."

"Well don't keep us waiting, what is it?" Kahlan asked eagerly.

"The hand of the King died."

"Jon Arryn?!" Kahlan exclaimed.

Artemis nodded vigorously. She didn't need to go through those details again.

Gianna dropped the toy doll she had been holding as realization hit. Her friends looked at her, perplexed.

"That means the King will need a new Hand," she said.

"Yes, and?" Artemis prompted.

Gianna continued, "Who is the logical choice for that position?"

Her two friends gazed back with blank stares.

"The King is coming to Winterfell."

* * *

Weeks had passed, and Gianna turned out to be right. King Robert WAS coming to Winterfell, as was the queen, their children, the queen's brothers, and the rest of their party. He would undoubtedly ask Lord Stark to accept the position as his right-hand man, and everyone knew Lord Stark would have no choice but to accept.

The three friends were currently laying outside on a grassy knoll, staring lazily up at the clouds above.

"I heard Lady Stark stocked Lord Tyrion's room with candles. He supposedly reads all through the night," said Kahlan.

"I heard he drinks all through the night," Artemis retorted with a laugh. "They brought up eight barrels of ale from the cellar."

Kahlan giggled. "How much could he possibly drink? A man of his...stature?"

All three of them burst out laughing at that. Lord Tyrion, the Queen's younger brother, was a dwarf, and stood just over four feet tall.

When they all finally caught their breathe, Kahlan reached for Gianna's hand. "Are you alright, G? You've been awfully quiet," she whispered.

Artemis laughed. "I expect it has something to do with the fact that the man who slaughtered her family is coming for a friendly fun-filled reunion."

Kahlan bolted up straight and glared at Artemis. "Artemis Hullen, you bite your tongue!"

Artemis rolled her eyes. Gianna just sighed. "No, she's right Kahlan. The King has been wavering back and forth over whether or not to let me live for the past sixteen years. I thought he'd forgotten about me. Seeing me will only remind him there is a potential threat to his title still alive. Some people do still call him Usurper after all. He's not very well going to let me marry a foreign prince."

The girls were silent for a long time.

"Well," Artemis began, "I guess we'll find out today."

* * *

The party accompanying the King was huge. Carriages, wagons and horses paraded down the King's Road for nearly a mile.

The Starks and their household were lined up in the main courtyard to receive the royal family, all dressed in their best clothes. Artemis stood behind the Starks, whispering suggestively in Theon's ear while he tugged gently on the edge of her green velvet gown.

 _It brings out her eyes_ , Kahlan thought.

Kahlan too had chosen to match her gown to her blue irises. Her dress was light cobalt, and the brown silk trim matched the brown silk strings of her corset. She had been very pleased at how the look had come together this morning, and she was well aware of the lusty glances thrown her way by the Stark bannermen. She stood up straighter and tilted her head up confidently. Beside her was her father, Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold.

She spared a glance in Gianna's direction. The teenage orphan was pulling on her gown's white fur collar nervously, and Kahlan felt a pang of sympathy for her friend. She had helped Lady Stark pick out the dress for her the day before. The Stark matriarch had been almost beside herself with anxiety. Gianna had become a surrogate daughter to her these past sixteen years, and she had welcomed her in a way that she never had or would her husband's bastard son Jon.

Kahlan couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman. She was already losing her husband to the King's demands. Kahlan hoped he wouldn't take Gianna away from her too.

 _I suppose Gianna is lucky she looks like her mother,_ Kahlan thought. With her large honey eyes, olive skin, and dark brown hair, perhaps the King would see enough of himself in her to take pity.

Finally, the carriages pulled through the main gate, Baratheon and Lannister banners flying high. As the king approached, everyone gathered kneeled in respect. As King Robert went to go greet Lord Stark, his wife and queen, Cersei Lannister, stepped from her carriage with her ladies.

The legends didn't do her justice. She was strikingly beautiful with long golden hair and emerald green eyes. She was so graceful she practically floated out of the carriage. She was followed by her handmaids and other ladies of the court who quickly stepped out behind her.

Kahlan admired the other ladies dresses as they emerged, but couldn't help but think (quite haughtily) that none of the ladies themselves were much to look at.

Her thought was interrupted though when one of the handmaids caught her eye. She had sensual curves and the most beautiful jet black hair. Her eyes were so dark, they were nearly black, and Kahlan couldn't help but marvel at their mesmerizing intensity.

 _She must be from somewhere in Essos_ , she thought to herself.

Just then the girl looked up and caught Kahlan staring. She glared back.

The King and Queen's three children rode in behind them, two boys and a girl. All three of them were blonde and beautiful like their mother.

The knight behind them removed his helmet, and Kahlan felt her breath get stuck in her throat. It was Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother. She had heard tales of how handsome he was, and she had expected him to be just as fair and golden-haired as his sister. However, she did not expect to feel the warm tingling sensation deep in her abdomen that she did now.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Kahlan noticed the King and Queen greeting the Starks. She may have seen the King grow red in the face and completely ignore Gianna out of her periphery vision. She remembered foggily that the King disappeared into the crypts with Lord Stark. But for the life of her, she couldn't take her eyes off of Jaime Lannister.

Kahlan didn't even notice as the crowds began to part and thin. Her eyes followed the blonde man as he walked off. She was only pulled back into reality by her father tugging on her hand.

"Come now, Kahlan. You'll want to be getting ready for the feast."


	3. Chapter 3: Cal

_**Author's Note: I don't speak Dothraki. I have no idea if my translations are correct. Good news is, you probably don't either.**_

* * *

All Cal felt was hot. The sand was hot. The sun was hot. The burns on her skin from the sun were hot. Even the wind whipping across her face was hot. She looked at her companion beside her. He didn't look like he was faring much better. His skin was red and cracked with blisters, and he appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open against the wind and sand.

They had been wandering the desert many called only "The Red Waste" for weeks since her banishment from Qarth. By now they were out of water, food, and all the rest of their supplies. Cal knew if they didn't reach the grasslands of the Dothraki Sea soon, they would surely perish.

 _If we make it there, the Dothraki savages will probably kill us anyway,_ Cal thought.

The irony of her situation was funny to her now. She had been banished from Qarth, a paradise of a city, for drowning a man in a large fountain of water. Now, she would gladly have taken his place, as water was all she could think about.

She didn't regret it though. Richard Duke had been an intolerant, impatient and cruel man. She had seen him dragging his poor maid by her hair through the courtyard. The young girl's back was bloody and her face was bruised. Cal simply couldn't let such brutal behavior go unpunished. She saw her crime as a baptism of sorts, a final cleansing of sins before the man's death.

Sir Michael Spankston has been a loyal friend and advisor to her father back when her father had still been alive. He had been loyal to Cal and her family her whole life, and his loyalty hadn't ended when Cal was banished.

Cal looked over at him again. Only a fool would follow another fool into the Red Waste.

Just then, she saw what appeared to be grass on the horizon, but it was so blurry and distorted by the heat waves she couldn't be sure.

"Probably another mirage," she heaved, but the words didn't come out. Her mouth was painfully dry now, and her entire body ached. The dehydration was beginning to make her delirious, and she was so weak she could barely manage crawling on her hands and knees.

Regardless, she kept going. The grass seemed to be getting closer and closer. Had they made it after all?

Cal moved her arm forward again on the hot sand. It gave out beneath her. She tried to pull herself back up, but it was no use. All of her strength was gone. She felt Sir Michael tugging on her arm, but before long his body collapsed too. Then, slowly the whole world went black.

* * *

Cal opened her eyes. She closed them. She opened them again. Was she...alive? She tried to sit up, but her sore, exhausted muscles protested too hard. Cal took a deep breath and looked around her.

The hut she was in was small and modest but clean. It was made of what appeared to be wooden sticks and animal hide. The air smelled like smoke and horse manure. This was a Dothraki camp. She was sure of it.

They hadn't killed her yet, which was a good sign. Unfortunately, she couldn't say the same about Sir Spankston. He was nowhere in sight.

Cal glanced down at her body. It had been cleaned of blood and dirt, and her blistered skin was now covered in some sort of mud. It felt cooling though, and Cal appreciated the relief.

She inhaled deeply again before trying to sit up once more. Almost immediately a pair of strong hands pressed her back down.

"No," a voice commanded firmly. Cal looked up. The woman was definitely dressed in Dothraki garb, but she didn't look Dothraki to Cal. Instead of the the dark Dothraki features Cal expected, the woman was blonde and had piercing blue eyes. She was tanned, probably from working and riding in the sun all day.

"You speak the Common tongue?" Cal asked. Her voice was still raspy, and her throat still stung from the arid desert air.

"Yes," the blonde Dothraki woman replied. She firmly pressed a bladder of water to Cal's mouth, forcing her to drink.

"Thank you," Cal gasped when the woman finally relented.

The woman began to gently rub the mud off of Cal with cool water.

"Do you have a name," asked Cal.

The woman looked at her wearily, as if she was assessing Cal's trustworthiness before responding.

"Ashley," she said. "Ashley Frederick."

It was definitely not a Dothraki name. The woman must have been from Westeros, the continent west of the Narrow Sea.

Ashley obviously sensed Cal's curiosity. She quickly finished rinsing off the mud and looked back down at the girl.

"Stay here," she commanded.

As soon as the woman had left the tent, Cal stood up. Her muscles screamed in agony, but she was surprised to see the mud concoction had left her skin significantly less blistered. She looked around as she stretched.

On the crude clay table beside her was a large broken shard of mirror glass.

Cal picked it up. Her face had been washed, and her stormy grey-blue eyes shined back at her. She ran her fingers through her tangled and matted auburn hair. Her fingers got caught every few seconds on a knot, and after struggling and failing to truly make any progress on the mess, she gave up.

Ashley had told her to stay put. Cal looked around the room again. She stared at the opening of the tent before deciding to push open the flaps and walk out into the sun shining beyond.

* * *

Outside of the tent men and women moved busily. A large group of horse-mounted warriors galloped past her. Cal jumped out of the way just in time. She heard children's laughter. Sure enough, just beyond a couple of women fanning the flame of a small fire pit, was a group of four or five young Dothraki. In the center of them all, holding a leather ball over his head, was Sir Michael.

Cal made her way over to the group, climbing over a pile of woven baskets and sidestepping piles of manure.

"Glad to see your alive," she shouted. Sir Michael looked up. Upon seeing Cal, a huge smile lit up his face.

"The feeling is mutual," he called back.

He tossed the ball to the child standing next to him before making his way over to his friend. "Nice of them to take us in," Cal remarked.

She watched as his expression quickly changed. He looked away from her and rubbed the back of his neck. Cal furrowed her brow. He only ever did that when he was trying to avoid giving her bad news.

"Perhaps we should introduce you to the Khal," he said. —-

Cal and Spankston stood in front of a large set of stone stairs. At the top, sat a very large, very striking looking Dothraki man.

 _This must be the Khal_ , Cal pondered.

He was intense in appearance, but far from unattractive. He had high, sculpted cheekbones and gorgeous caramel skin. His long black hair fell all the way down to his lower back and was tied in an elaborate ponytail. His dark eyes were currently staring into Cal's in such a way that she was sure he could see straight into her soul.

"Khal vezhven," Ashley began. "Azha anhaan asshilat..." She looked expectantly at Cal and Sir Michael.

Cal looked back, clearly perplexed.

"Your names," Ashley whispered.

More blank stares.

"Announce your names," Ashley whispered again, this time with more urgency.

Sir Michael spoke up first.

"Khal Qhono," he began. "It is a great honor to be here in your khalasar. My name is Sir Michael Spankston, and this is my friend and companion Calico Crocuta."

The khal's eyes had yet to leave Cal's. "Me jin davra chiorikem."

His voice was deep, and the sound of it made goosebumps appear up Cal's arms and down her spine. Without looking away from his eyes, she whispered to Ashley.

"What did he say?"

"He said you will make a fine wife."


	4. Chapter 4: Makaria

Between the music and the laughter of a hundred men and women, Makaria could barely hear herself think at the Stark's feast.

Lannister handmaids and ladies giggled and chatted excitedly on either side of her. Across the table sat ladies from the Stark household, equally as high-pitched, equally as annoying. A little ways down she noticed the blonde Karstark girl who had been staring at her when they arrived. She was huddled closely with her friends, whispering and shooting furtive glances at Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. Makaria rolled her eyes.

 _They're obviously daft_ , she thought.

Anyone with eyes and any sense knew the golden lion wasn't interested in any ladies of the court. As far as Makaria knew, he never really had been.

She did find it funny though that the girls whispers and stares had also attracted the attention of Robb Stark and the Greyjoy boy. The two boys' heads were swiveling between looks of concern for the girls and glowering at the Kingslayer.

Their reactions may have gone unnoticed by most, but Makaria was nothing if not observant. It was probably the singular most important trait that had kept her alive this long.

By now the celebration was in full force. The news had spread that Ned Stark would be the new Hand of the King, and his daughter Sansa would be betrothed to the prince, Joffrey.

Sansa Stark was positively glowing with happiness, and Makaria actually felt her heart break for the naive girl. She had been in King's Landing long enough to know exactly what kind of boy Joffrey was growing up to be, and it wasn't the Prince Charming that Sansa was hoping for.

Robust laughter and a high-pitched squeal drew her attention across the large hall. King Robert was kissing and manhandling one of the Stark's servant girls, who was apparently enjoying the attention.

Makaria clenched her jaw. She knew the King was a pig, but this flagrant display of bawdy affection was worsened by the fact that his wife sat mere feet away, forced to watch.

She looked up at the queen who sitting at the high table with Lord and Lady Stark. Her back was rigid and straight. Her smile was taut and strained.

She tried to feel sympathetic. She was all for empathizing with the plights of women, but she had seen first hand the horrible things Cersei Lannister was capable of. The woman was selfish and cruel, and Makaria just couldn't find it within herself to feel bad for her.

These thoughts were interrupted a moment later when Arya Stark flung a forkful of her dinner at her sister. The little girl was quickly escorted to bed by the pretty Targaryen girl, who looked relieved to have an excuse to escape the room. Makaria watched as the oldest Stark boy followed close behind. Even more interesting though, was how the Stark bastard, (she vaguely remembered him being named Jon,) stared hopelessly after them.

* * *

As the feast finally winded down and men and women began to exit the hall, Makaria was at full attention. It was time for her to do the job she was meant to do. She straightened the high collar of her silky silver gown, and smoothed her hair down around her intricate top-knot.

She watched as Lady Catelyn Stark walked through the large main doors. After letting a few seconds pass, she followed.

The older woman made her way up the dark and winding staircase, surrounded on either side by a Stark guard. Makaria made sure not to follow too closely, so as to not attract any unwanted attention from passersby.

At the top of the stairs and at the end of the hall, was Lord and Lady Stark's bed chambers. Makaria waited in a shadowy corner for Lady Catelyn to enter the room. After ensuring the hall was clear besides the two guards at the door, Makaria approached.

"I have a message for Lady Stark," she stated firmly.

"Lady Stark has gone to bed for the evening," one of the guards responded.

"I think she would agree that this is a very urgent matter," Makaria pressed again.

The two guards glanced at each other. Finally, one shrugged and lightly knocked on the wooden door.

Makaria heard a delicate voice call from inside. "Come in!"

The guard opened the door and let Makaria pass through. The older woman looked surprised. She clearly didn't recognize the dark-haired girl.

"I have a message for you," Makaria said.

Lady Stark waited expectantly.

She looked at the guards pointedly, trying to make her need for privacy understood.

"Ah," Lady Stark said. She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if it was wise to be left alone with a secretive stranger. She looked into Makaria's dark eyes. Eventually, it seemed she found what she wanted in them, because she waved the guards away.

When the door had closed, Makaria pulled the small scroll out of her sleeve. She handed it to the other women and quickly went to open the door.

"Wait," Lady Stark commanded. "This is from my sister, Lysa." Makaria paused.

"I really must be getting back to my room," she said.

"You've taken the time to bring me a message. You can wait for me to read it."

Makaria's outstretched arm was so close to the door handle. She let it drop, and turned back to face Lady Stark. The older woman unfolded the note and began to read.

A moment passed, and Makaria watched as Catelyn Stark's face turned white and her eyes widened. She pushed Makaria aside and quickly tossed the note into the flames of the burning fireplace.

 _This was not part of the plan_ , Makaria thought. She was supposed to have left by now.

"She's fled the Capital," Lady Stark said. Makaria wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question, so she remained silent. Lady Stark continued.

"She says Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters." Again Makaria stayed quiet.

"She says the King is in danger." Silence.

"Lysa's head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter," she said. Her voice was shaking now, and Makaria knew what she would ask next.

"Who are you?"

Makaria didn't answer immediately. She needed to choose her words carefully.

"A trusted friend," she said finally.

Lady Stark looked like she wanted to strike her. Makaria could tell she was panicking.

"They murdered the last Hand of the King," she said. "And now they want Ned to take the job?"

Makaria swallowed loudly. Ned Stark needed to go to King's Landing. He was the key to the entire plan unfolding.

"If this news is true, and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but Ned could protect the King?"

Now she thought Catelyn might actually strike her. She quickly continued.

"He rode for a month to ask for Lord Stark's help. He's the only one he trusts."

The woman opposite her still looked livid, but Makaria saw her face soften a bit. She pressed on.

"He swore the king an oath, my lady." Lady Stark looked up at her.

"He's spent half his life fighting Robert's wars. He owes him nothing. His father and brother rode south once on a king's demand."

Makaria knew this well. Ned Stark's brother and father had been called to the capital by the Mad King Aerys, only to be burned to death in the throne room.

She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, looking Lady Stark directly in the eyes.

"A different time. A different king."

With that, she curtseyed deeply and walked out the door.


	5. Chapter 5: And Now Our Watch Begins

Gianna held Arya by the wrist as she escorted her out of the feast. She didn't look at the young girl, for fear that she would burst out laughing. She knew she had to reprimand her for her wild behavior, but the bewildered look on Sansa's face when the pudding had hit her had been too hilarious not to enjoy.

They had barely left the hall when Robb caught up to them.

"Arya, you have to stop antagonizing your sister like that," he scolded.

"It's alright, Robb," Gianna said. "I'll handle it."

But Robb continued to keep pace with the girls.

"I'll help you walk her to her room," he insisted.

Arya snorted, and Gianna looked at the two of them quizzically.

"Alright then..."

When they reached Arya's room, Gianna instructed the maids to get her changed into her nightgown and washed up for bed immediately. Before leaving she looked at the small girl.

"You haven't heard the last of this, Arya," she reprimanded. "And you best be prepared for whatever wrath Sansa is going to unleash on you tomorrow for embarrassing her like that in front of the prince."

Arya merely shrugged as the maids began to untie her corset.

Gianna sighed and closed the door behind her. When she turned around she found Robb waiting expectantly. She could tell that there was something he wanted to say.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" she asked.

Robb's face broke out into a huge smile. "Absolutely," he said.

They walked down the dimly lit corridor. Below them they could still hear the echoes of conversation and laughter at the feast.

They made their way through the main gate and into the Godswood. It wasn't until they reached the "heart tree", a weirwood with the melancholy face of one of the old gods carved into it, that Gianna stopped and turned to her friend.

"Alright, Robb. Out with it now. What's on your mind?" Robb didn't say anything, just looked at the girl.

He took in her large caramel colored eyes framed by dark lashes. Her long brown hair with golden highlights that peeked through even in the darkness. She was strong and beautiful and all he had ever dreamed of wanting.

Gianna couldn't decipher the expression on Robb's face. His brow was furrowed as if he was confused, but his happy grin was steadily growing larger by the second.

Before she could speak, Robb crushed his lips to hers.

Gianna was so startled, she didn't move. Robb pushed her back against the weirwood tree, lips still hungrily moving against hers.

His hands moved to her waist. Finally recovering from the shock, Gianna put her hands against his chest and pushed him back hard.

They both looked at each other, panting.

"What was that?!" Gianna yelled. She couldn't quite place what she was feeling in the moment, but bewilderment and confusion were definitely prominent.

Robb didn't say anything at first. He seemed genuinely confused that she wasn't as thrilled as he was by the action.

Gianna began to storm away. She was a Targaryen AND a Baratheon for god's sake. She didn't have to wait on the explanation of a man.

Robb grabbed her arm. "Gianna, wait," he said.

She looked at him, wordless.

"I just needed you to know how I felt."

When she didn't immediately yell back at him, he continued.

"I know neither of us know what the future holds right now, but I know that I want you in mine. I haven't been able to sleep or eat or fight. All I could think about was doing what I just did. I want us to be together."

Gianna couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was Robb of all people, one of her best friends since infancy. He had practically been her brother all these years. But in the back of her mind, she knew that wasn't entirely true.

She too had noticed a change in Robb in the past year. He had grown several inches, and his shoulders had broadened. His voice had deepened. His face had angles in places where before it had not, and facial hair had sprouted around his chin. He had a man's body now, and no girl in the Seven Kingdom's would deny that he was strikingly handsome.

But still, it was _Robb._

He was still waiting for her response.

She wanted to tell him that it was okay and that they could talk it out. She wanted to tell him a lot of things, but instead she merely stood there. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish on the shoreline, gasping for breath, but no words came out.

All she could manage was a gentle squeeze of his hand before she bolted from the Godswood back towards the castle.

She was fuming now and near tears. As she stormed back inside, her mind was flooded with a million thoughts.

 _How dare he! He knew she didn't have a choice in any of this. The king would either execute her or marry her off to some old powerless lord who wouldn't be a threat. How dare Robb put such fanciful ideas into her head._

All she wanted was the comfort of her warm bed and to forget about tonight and the bleak unclear future awaiting her.

* * *

The sound of metal swords clashing echoed loudly through the courtyard as Jon and Theon faced off in the practice arena.

"Uncle Benjen was at the feast last night," Jon said as he quickly sidestepped Theon's blade. "Your father's brother?" asked Theon. "The First Ranger of the Night's Watch?"

"Ay," Jon replied. He lunged at his friend, but he missed. "He said I can come with him back to the Wall. I'm going to take the black."

Theon halted. In the split second of shock, he had let his defenses down and Jon landed a glancing blow to his right shoulder. Theon didn't even react.

He had known someday something like this would happen. He just hadn't expected it so soon.

After his father, Lord Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, attempted rebellion and failed, Theon had come to Winterfell as a ward when he was only eight years old. Like Gianna, he had grown up with the Starks, and Jon and Robb had become his closest friends. He wasn't ready to lose one of them quite yet.

Jon thrust, and he parried the incoming blow.

"Well," Theon began with a snide smirk. "Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all from the perils beyond the wall. You know, saving us from the wildlings and white walkers and whatnot."

Jon could tell Theon was being sarcastic, condescension was practically dripping off his every word.

"The Night's Watch protects the realm from..."

"Ah yes, against grumpkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about," Theon interrupted.

Jon swung again angrily. If Theon didn't know better, he'd think he was actually trying to hurt him.

"And what about Arya, Bran, and Robb," Theon persisted. He threw a jab at every name he mentioned. "Lovely thing about the Watch. You discard your old family and get a whole new one."

Jon stopped and lowered his sword. Theon did the same. The two boys looked at each other solemnly from across the field.

"The Wall isn't going anywhere," said Theon.

"I'm ready to swear their oath," insisted Jon.

Theon got angry again. The Snow boy could be too stubborn for his own good.

"You don't understand what you'd be giving up! They have no families! None of them will ever father sons!"

Jon was getting upset now too. "I don't care about that," he said. But a slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

Theon saw his opening. "You might, if you knew what it meant," he said, looking pointedly up at the window of Gianna's bedroom.

Jon's words stuck in his throat, and it felt as though there was a large stone in the pit of his stomach. He was sure that the Targaryen girl was the only woman he'd ever fall in love with, but there was nothing he could do about that. He looked at Theon.

"What's my name?" he asked.

Theon could sense the trap in the question, but played along anyway.

"Jon Snow," he said.

"And why is my surname Snow?" John continued to press.

"Because you're a bastard from the North," answered Theon, still unsure of what his friend was implying.

"I can inherit no land or title," said Jon. "I would have nothing to offer a girl like her, and besides she's one of the last Targaryens _and_ a blood relation to the king. He'll sell her off like swine to the highest bidder. A bastard like me would never stand a chance."

Theon was silent. He knew that Jon was right. Perhaps going to the Wall would be what was best for him.

"Besides," continued Jon. "We've guarded the kingdoms for 8,000 years. It's an honorable path."

Theon frowned. "Is it 'we' already? Have you taken your vows, then," he mocked.

"Soon enough," answered Jon.

Theon recognized a lost cause when he saw one.

"Well then, give my regards to the Night's Watch. I'm sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not...it's only for life."

* * *

Gianna sat in her bedroom wringing her hands together over and over again. Lord Stark had sent word that he was coming to speak with her, and Gianna knew what it would be about. The King would be leaving in a few days, and besides a few angry glares in her direction, he had barely acknowledged her presence.

She tried to focus on her breathing. Her maids were sitting in such nervous silence behind her, she could almost feel the anxiety and tension coursing through the air. She wanted to scream at them to leave, but before she could there was a knock at the door.

Gianna relaxed her clenched fists. She had been expecting soldiers to charge in at any moment. If King Robert was going to execute her, he wouldn't have knocked first.

"Come in," she breathed.

Lord Stark entered the room. Even though he was moving normally, Gianna could have sworn he was going slower than molasses on a hot summer afternoon.

She stood and curtseyed, and he gestured for her to sit down before pulling up a sit across from her. When he didn't say anything, Gianna felt her heart jump from her chest. Perhaps the King had decided to kill her after all.

Lord Stark cleared his throat before speaking, and Gianna noticed that he wouldn't look her in the eye.

She felt if she waited another moment, her heart would burst. Despite the impropriety, she spoke first.

"News from the King, my lord?" she asked. She had started wringing her hands again. Lord Stark nodded, finally looking her in the eyes.

"I'll be honest with you, little dove," he said. "He wanted to kill you. His hatred for the Targaryens has not diminished these past sixteen years."

Gianna held her breath.

"But," continued Lord Stark. "The South needs allies in the North. We are as vast as we are wild, and there's no better way to form an alliance than through a noble marriage."

Gianna nodded. It would be a betrothal then, and one in the North too. She hoped the it would be to one of the lords close to Winterfell and the family who had become her own.

"Gianna..."

She could throttle the man for speaking so slowly. "How would you like to stay in Winterfell?"

A million thoughts raced through her head at once. _Stay in Winterfell? What on earth was he talking about? He had said there would be a marriage alliance. She couldn't very well bring her husband here._

"With Sansa betrothed to Joffrey, the King agreed to the further uniting of our houses. I know it might feel strange having grown up together, but I think over time you and Robb could make each other quite happy."

It finally hit her then. Robb. Had he put his father up to this? She was thrilled to be keeping her head, and even more ecstatic at the prospect of staying in Winterfell of course. But she had always assumed she would be sent to marry a stranger; one whom she would never love, but hopefully would be able to tolerate. But _Robb?_

She felt the same swirling emotions in her stomach that she had the night before when he had kissed her. She might have feelings for him sure, but everything was moving so fast. Her head began to spin. It was only then that she realized she still hadn't responded to Lord Stark, who was sitting there with a look of great concern on his face.

"...Gianna?" He lightly tapped her shoulder.

Gianna managed to ground herself enough to produce a small smile.

"Of course, my lord," she breathed. "That would be most wonderful."

It clearly wasn't the reaction he had been hoping for. He had expected tears of joy or for her to jump into his arms shouting with gratitude.

He stood to leave. When he was at the door, Gianna stopped him.

"My lord," she began. "You said the king wanted to execute me. You persuaded him otherwise?"

Ned Stark nodded. "Ay."

"What exactly did he say then, when he agreed to let me live?"

Lord Stark chuckled darkly before grinning at her. "He said you'd end up killing us all."

Gianna let out a weak laugh and watched Lord Stark leave. The door closed softly behind him.

Now that he was gone, she had a moment to think. She had to try and clear her head. She needed to talk to Robb.

* * *

Robb sat in his chambers with his head in his hands. He was replaying the events from the night before in a continuous loop in his mind. The way Gianna's lips had felt on his and how angrily she had pushed him away.

How could he have been so stupid? Of course she didn't feel the same, and now he had made everything worse.

A soft knock interrupted his miserable thoughts. "Come in," he mumbled through his hands.

His mother entered the room. Robb stood up slowly to greet her, but she quickly motioned for him to sit back down.

"Something on your mind?" she asked. Robb shook his head. It certainly wasn't something he was going to discuss with her, regardless of how close they were.

"There's something I need to talk to you about." Robb nodded for her to continue.

"I have always believed that you would be able to choose your own path in life. I wanted you to marry a woman you loved and have a beautiful family."

Robb stared at her, confused.

"But there's been a change of plans, dear," said Lady Stark.

Robb felt the breath leave his body. This was not the conversation he had been expecting when his mother had entered the room.

"The King has made a decision on Gianna's fate."

Robb clenched his fist in anticipation, not yet having made the connection his mother was implying.

She paused, clearly nervous about his reaction.

"Well, as long as he was here making alliances in the North, he has decided that it would be safest for her to stay here in Winterfell where we can keep a close eye on her."

Robb's laugh bellowed across the room, and a bright smile lit up his face. The earlier portion of their conversation completely forgotten, he reached over and picked his mother up into a bear hug.

"She's staying," he repeated. "He's letting her live, and she's staying!"

Upon seeing her son's joy, Lady Stark finally relaxed. When he put her down, she smiled back at her son.

"That's not everything, Robb."

He stopped. What else could there possibly be?

"The King has decided that the two of you will wed. Gianna will become Lady Stark of Winterfell someday, and you will be her husband."

Robb froze. He searched his mother's eyes for any sign of jest or deceit. He found none. "I have to go see her," he practically yelled.

"Robb!" Lady Stark shouted, but it was too late. He was already at the door.

Immediately, she commanded the guards to grab him. Robb struggled against their arms. "Robb, you cannot go charging in there like a madman," his mother chastised. "Give her time to process the news, and when she's ready..."

She trailed off. Just down the hall stood Gianna, staring at the two men holding Robb back.

Their eyes locked, and in that second the emotion on Robb's face was all Gianna needed to see. She knew now, that this was the only man she wanted to marry. Realizing what she was thinking almost immediately, the joyful smile returned to Robb's face. He pushed the two soldiers out of the way and ran toward the girl at the end of the hall.

Sweeping her up in his arms, he spun her around in a great circle before pulling her towards him for a kiss.

"Alright, that is enough," scolded Lady Stark. She was moving toward them quickly now. "You are _not_ married yet!"

* * *

Kahlan was currently sitting on her favorite terrace in Winterfell. Every time she came to visit her cousins she would sit there and read whatever tomes she could convince the maester to lend her. Today however, she had been asked by her father to meet at the special spot. She had already been waiting for several minutes, and was debating whether or not to go and look for him, when he finally appeared.

She stood and curtseyed, and he waved for her to sit back down. The large, gaunt man pulled up a chair across from her.

He didn't say anything at first. Finally, he reached across the table and grabbed her hand in his own. Kahlan's heart immediately began to race. This wasn't like her father at all. The man she knew never hesitated for words or lingered on tender gestures. Instead, he preferred blunt discussion and decisive action.

After what felt like a millenia, he spoke.

"Kahlan, as you know your cousin Sansa will be leaving with her father for King's Landing in a few days. She is promised to Prince Joffrey, and will one day be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Kahlan nodded, unsure of where he was leading.

"Ned has also decided to bring Arya along with him as well, in order to raise her as a proper noble lady in the country's capital."

This was a surprise to Kahlan. She had expected Arya to stay at Winterfell with her mother. Regardless, she couldn't see why her father had felt the need to tell her this now. Luckily, he continued.

"Kahlan, your mother and I have decided that it would be in the best interest for your future if you went South with your cousins as one of Sansa's ladies-in-waiting."

He stopped there, looking to Kahlan for a response.

She let the information sink in for a moment. On one hand, going to King's Landing would be a grand adventure just like the ones she read in the old stories. On the other, she would have to leave her family and the comforts of home. She would have to leave Artemis and Gianna.

Kahlan's brow furrowed, and then she thought of him. Jaime Lannister. A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold northern wind.

She knew it was stupid to think anything would ever develop between her and the Queen's brother. Even if he wasn't a member of the Kingsguard, thus forbidden from taking a wife or fathering a child, there was no reason to believe he'd ever look twice at her.

But even if that was the case, she was sure to find a suitable husband at Court. Certainly the prospects would be a lot better than if she stayed in Winterfell. If there was one thing Kahlan was positive of, it was that she fully intended on marrying well.

All in all, going to the capital felt right.

So she took a deep breath to try and calm the churning butterflies in her stomach, and she answered her father.

"Well, then I best go and pack."

On her way back to her room, Kahlan decided to see if she could find Artemis out in the stables. She wanted to tell her friend the news before she heard it from someone else.

As she crossed the courtyard, she heard a shout. Moments later Bran Stark's body landed in front of her.


	6. Chapter 6: Blood of My Blood

Upon hearing Ashley's words, Cal felt indignation rising inside her. She was not to be traded like cattle. Somewhere she heard Sir Michael yell, but it had taken her only moments to grab Ashley's blade from her side and charge at the Khal.

It had taken even less time for two of the Dothraki soldiers to knock her out. Right before she blacked out though, Calico felt a sharp sting along the side of her brow and something warm dripped into her eye. Then, it was dark.

* * *

She awoke back in the same tent she had found herself in when she first arrived. Only this time, her hands were tied behind her with rough leather straps.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, she would have joked that the bondage was very much to her liking.

A Dothraki horse rider entered the tent. He looked surprised to see her there, but upon seeing her bonds, a malicious smile spread across his face.

He took a step towards her, but fortunately Ashley appeared before he could get any closer.

" _Vos! Me tikh Khaleesi_ ," she shouted and slapped the back of the man's head. She pushed him out of the tent before looking down and glowering at Cal.

"Fine mess you've made of this," she said. Cal laughed. "I didn't even get a hit in," She said.

"No, you didn't," said Ashley pointedly. "You're lucky that scar on your brow bone isn't any bigger."

Cal remembered the stinging sensation now. "Mind untying me?" she asked.

"Absolutely not," replied Ashley. "Kahl's strict orders to keep you subdued until you've calmed down. You're lucky he didn't kill you on the spot."

Cal sighed. "Why didn't he?" she asked. "Surely, he could find another prisoner to marry him."

"The Dothraki admire courage and violence. You've only attracted him more with your little stunt," replied Ashley.

She made herself tall and lowered her voice to mimic the Kahl. " _Look at how fierce she is. There is fire inside her."_

"Great," Calico huffed. A thought struck her. "Where is Sir Michael?" she asked. "He's fine," Ashley responded. "Would you like to go and see him?"

Cal nodded, and Ashley helped her to her feet.

Outside of the tent, she saw him. He was tied to a pole near the center of camp. He was covered in dirt, and his face was badly cut and bruised. Cal felt a pang of guilt as she approached him. He was obviously punished for her impulsivity.

As she approached, he looked up at her. Cal could see one of his eyes was almost completely swollen shut.

"Cal," he said. "You're okay."

"I wish I could say the same for you," she replied.

He managed a weak laugh. "I've had worse," he said.

She leaned in close enough to smell the sweat caked on his skin. In as low of a voice as she could manage, she whispered, "Don't worry. I'm going to get us out of here."

Sir Michael smiled wearily back at her. "I know this is pointless to say, but please don't do anything too reckless."

Before she could respond, Cal noticed Sir Michael's eyes widen just enough to let her know that she should look behind her.

She spun around quickly and immediately crashed into a large, hard surface. As she began to fall, she remembered her hands were still tied behind her back. She braced herself for the inevitable impact of the ground. But the wall she had run into wrapped his arms around her waist and placed her right-side up.

 _Of course it's the Kahl,_ Cal thought bitterly.

He stepped back from her and turned to Ashley. "Kisha gwe asshekh," he ordered before walking away. Cal looked at the blonde girl.

"What did he say?"

"He said we leave today."

"Leave?" Cal asked frantically. She followed the girl towards the edge of camp, abandoning a bewildered Sir Michael. "Where are you going?"

Ashley laughed. "You mean where are ' _we_ ' going. You are going to marry the Khal, Calico Crocuta. The Dothraki take what they want."

Cal thought she sensed an edge of bitterness in the woman's voice, but it was so faint she couldn't be sure if she imagined it. She wondered how the tall blonde had come to Essos, and how she became a member of the tribe.

Before she had a chance to inquire, strong hands were lifting her onto a large chestnut draught horse. She turned in the saddle to see men and women quickly packing up tents and gathering belongings. Two men were forcing Sir Michael to his feet. They tied his hands together with a long piece of rope and pulled him over to Cal. One of the men attached the rope to the back of her saddle. It was clear he would be forced to walk. She gave him an apologetic look, and mere moments later the khalasar began moving.

They were heading northwest to Vaes Dothrak, the only true city of the Dothraki people. Ashley was filling her in on the details while they rode. Once there, she and the Khal would marry.

Cal felt her stomach drop. It wasn't that she had anything against the khal per say, if circumstances were different she might have found him very attractive. The problem was she had never considered herself the marrying type.

After her father had died, it had just been her and Sir Michael. She had learned to take care of herself, and the red-headed beauty didn't intend for that to change so soon.

She looked back at Sir Michael. He looked tired, but had been holding up pretty well. "When I am Khaleesi," Calico asked Ashley. "Will I be able to guarantee his safety?"

"Unless the Khal says otherwise, when you are Khaleesi, you can guarantee anything," replied Ashley.

Cal quite liked the sound of that.

* * *

Calico could see the entrance to Vaes Dothrak from afar. It was marked by two gigantic bronze stallions. The statues' hooves met a hundred feet above the roadway to form a pointed arch.

Beyond them rose a great purple mountain. It's rocky peaks looked to scrape the blue sky above it.

There were no gates or walls around Vaes Dothrak. The city itself was expansive with broad, windswept streets paved in grass and mud. Past the gate there was carved stone pavilions, manses of woven grass, wooden towers, stepped pyramids and log halls.

The khalasar stopped in a large courtyard area, and everyone began dismounting. Ashley hopped off her mare and walked around to Cal to help her down. Cal's wrists had been rubbed raw by the leather. Noticing her discomfort, Ashley began slowly untying the binding.

"You're letting me go?" Cal asked.

Ashley snorted. "Absolutely, not. But we're too far way from any other city for you to make a run for it, and you're surrounded by the khalasar. If you try and escape, you'd barely reach the gate before you'd be killed." She paused. "Although, we really shouldn't underestimate you. You did make it through the Red Waste." She eyed Cal cynically before going to untie Sir Michael, who immediately collapsed from exhaustion.

Before Cal could go and help him up, Ashley had grabbed her arm and was leading her away. "Where are we going?" Cal asked.

"The Khal wants to speak with you."

"I don't bloody care what the Khal wants," said Cal, but her protest was ignored.

Ashley led her up the steps of a large pyramid. Inside, the Khal sat on a stone bench.

Ashley pushed her forward, and Cal approached the intimidating man.

" _Zheana_ ," he began. " _Anha nesa ha kashi tih mahrazhis afichak ha virzeth graddakh, ki yeri ha_

 _anna."_

"Beautiful," Ashley translated. "I knew when my men saved you from the Red Waste, you would be mine."

" _Yeri hatif ven disse yeri oakah. Ven tih khaleesi, anha vazhak yeri rhaesheser."_

"Your beauty is matched only by your spirit. As my queen, I will give you the world," finished Ashley.

Cal studied the khal. His bulging muscles were taut under his tanned skin. The flecks of gold in his eyes practically glowed under the dancing flames of the torches. They were kind eyes, tender even. They hinted at the possibility of a warm heart under the tough exterior.

Calico shook her head slowly. "No," she said. Her voice was firm but soft.

Kahl Qhono nodded to Ashley as if he understood, and the girl grabbed Cal's arm. She began to lead her out of the room.

"That's it," Cal whispered. "He's letting me go?"

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid," she said. "I told you the Dothraki take what they want."

* * *

Calico had spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about today. Although at first she had been resistant to the idea, she knew things could be worse. After all, when she was banished from Qarth, she hadn't really had a plan. She was just trying to make it through the desert alive. She had no family or money. Most likely she would have been killed by the Dothraki or captured and sold near Slaver's Bay. If not, she would have lived a poor life as a beggar or worse. Now, she had the opportunity to be queen to 30,000 Dothraki, some of the fiercest warriors in the world. Perhaps this was her destiny after all.

That morning, three Dothraki women came to prep her for the wedding.

They ran a hot bath for her and added sweet-smelling perfumes and oils. One woman gathered the sides of her straight hair into an elaborate braid, leaving the rest down and natural.

The dress was grey-blue like her eyes, and made of a cloth so thin and sheer it reminded Cal of fragile tissue. It left little to the imagination, highlighting her every curve. The shoulder straps were fastened with golden pins that spread out like branches.

When they brought out coal paint to darken her eyes, Calico insisted they use a light hand. She had seen the Dothraki war paint, and voluntary or not, it was her wedding day. She didn't want to look like one of those half-dead warlocks from the House of the Undying.

When she was deemed presentable, the ladies led her out into a large pavilion overlooking the clear blue lake the Dothraki called the "Womb of the World."

Across from her were great stone steps and at the top sat Khal Qhono. Ashley stood at the bottom with Sir Michael to her right. He was looking solemn, but upon seeing the determination on Cal's face, his look softened.

She was not afraid.

Qhono stood and spoke. His voice bellowed loudly across the pavilion, so all of his people could hear.

 _"Ki jini anha astak asqoy hatif Maisi Krazaaji kash shieraki vitihiri asavvasoon, kash qoy qoyi thira disse, nevakhi vekha ha maan gwe."_

Ashley called out after him, "I swear before the mother of mountains as the stars look down in witness, as long as the blood of my blood lives, there is a place for you here."

Cal breathed deeply and tried to remember the phrase Ashley had instructed her to repeat.

 _"Me azhasavva vezhofoon,"_ she said. It was supposed to mean, "It's a blessing from the great stallion," but she had butchered it she was sure. She made a mental note that learning Dothraki would be the first thing she did as Khaleesi.

Ashley then gestured for her to walk up the stairs to take her place next to the Khal. When she was seated, the festivities began.

Slaves brought out dish after dish of food, and drums began to play. The women gathered into the pavilion to dance in a way Cal had never seen before. Their moves were primal. To her, it looked as if their whole bodies were spasming. To her shock, warriors would come up and mate with them freely as the whole khalasar looked on. Soon this passion would bring men to blows, and Calico began to lose count of the deaths.

She snuck a glance at Qhono. He was smiling, seemingly enjoying the violence and chaos, nothing like the gentle man she had seen the night before. It was odd to think that this was now her husband.

She smirked. In Qarth she had always told people that she would never settle down in a conventional marriage.

 _Well, nobody would call this wedding conventional,_ she thought.

Towards the end of the ceremony, gifts were presented to the couple. Each of Qhono's bloodriders presented her with newly forged weapons. Ashley had instructed her to politely decline these gifts, as they would then go to her husband. Some of the merchants from across Essos had brought sweet wines, jewelry and books in an attempt to stay in the horde's good graces. Her favorite gift though, came from Sir Michael.

It was a dagger made of Valyrian steel. It's hilt was made of dragonbone and was encrusted with rubies and gold. She recognized it immediately as one which had belonged to her father. Her eyes teared up. She looked at him and mouthed a silent, " _Thank you._ " He nodded and squeezed her hand gently. Somehow having him here gave her more courage.

Qhono stood, and the drums and dancing stopped. He looked at Cal and extended a hand. Cal knew what happened next. It was time for the bedding ceremony.


	7. Chapter 7: Omens of War

_**Author's Note: Sorry this had to happen guys! Mostly plot filler. Also, I know the Targaryen ancestor was named Daenys, but do you really want that confusing you the whole time? Didn't think so. K BYEEEE**_

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks since Bran had fallen from the tower, and he still hadn't woken up.

Gianna sat by his bedside, across from Lady Stark. There was a thin sheen of sweat on the boy's brow, and he looked a bit pale. Beneath the covers, Gianna could tell his limbs weren't laying quite right. All in all though, he looked peaceful. Certainly he looked a lot better than his mother at the moment.

Lady Stark had yet to leave his bedside. Her hair was wild and unwashed, and circles darker than a raven's feathers had settled under her eyes. She had barely been eating, so her already thin frame was growing gaunt. Her face was hollowed and haunted-looking. She was constantly praying.

They could hear Robb and Bran's dire wolves Grey Wind and Summer, outside howling. Dilara, Gianna's own wolf, perked up at the noise. Gianna reached over to scratch behind the beast's ears.

All of the Starks had chosen other pups, afraid that Dilara's black fur and bright yellow eyes were a bad omen. But, Gianna didn't believe in omens. She believed in luck. After all, luck was the only reason Bran was still alive.

She had been telling him stories this afternoon. She wasn't sure if he could hear her, but the chatter was comforting to her and Lady Stark.

"Do you want to know why I named my wolf ' _Dilara_ ,' Bran?" she began. "Well, to understand I'll have to tell you about the Doom of Valyria." She saw Lady Stark pause her sewing to listen.

"My Targaryen ancestors came from Valyria, a magnificent legendary city in Essos. Five hundred years ago, Dilara Targaryen woke from a prophetic dream. She had seen visions of Valyria's destruction, so she ran to tell her father, Lord Aenar. When she finally managed to convince him, he packed up his family and their belongings, including their five dragons. They all moved to a small island in the narrow sea, just off the eastern coast of Westeros, and called it Dragonstone. Twelve years later, Dilara's prophecy came true.

On the day of the Doom, every hill for five hundred miles exploded and filled the air with ash, smoke and fire so powerful, it killed even dragons. Earthquakes destroyed palaces, temples and towns. Lakes boiled and turned to acid. Valyrian volcanoes sent molten rock a thousand feet into the air, and red clouds rained down dragon glass. Nearly all of Valyria's ancient records and secrets, such as their ability to do real magic and create Valyrian steel, were lost forever that day. And the Targaryens grew to become one of the most powerful families in Westeros," Gianna finished.

"And now they're all dead," Lady Stark added.

Gianna took a deep breath to try and control the spark of rage her words ignited. Lady Stark had been growing more and more ornery each day Bran didn't awaken. Gianna's patience was starting to wear thin.

She looked up at the woman slowly. "Not all of us."

The look on Catelyn's face softened. "No, not all of you."

Gianna paused a beat. "They say I have a cousin still alive across the Narrow Sea. Her name is Daenerys, if I'm not mistaken."

"I've heard that as well," Catelyn confirmed.

Gianna swallowed loudly. She had wanted to broach this subject with the Starks for ages, but hadn't had the courage.

"They say she's wed a Dothraki horselord named Khal Drogo. They say he has 40,000 men in his horde and that she's pregnant with his child."

"Should we send her a wedding gift?" Catelyn snapped sarcastically. Gianna bit her tongue. "Do you think King Robert will have her killed?"

Without missing a beat, Catelyn replied, "King Robert will kill every Targaryen he gets his hands on, you should consider yourself lucky."

"But he can't get his hands on her. What if she crosses the sea? There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call King Robert, 'Usurper.'"

Catelyn face went white. She put down her sewing needles and looked at Gianna. For a long time, she didn't speak. Finally, she said, "Careful who you whisper these thoughts to, girl. Those who don't know better would say it sounds like treason."

Gianna nodded, but didn't respond. Catelyn continued.

"Even if she had a million Dothraki, she would be no threat to the realm. They'll remain on the other side of the Narrow Sea. They have no ships," she said. "They will not cross, and if by chance she did, King Robert and the Lannisters would throw them back into the sea."

Gianna nodded again. She wasn't sure what she had been hoping to hear, but knowing there was another Targaryen out there inspired some sort of feverish hope in her. Her thoughts were interrupted however at a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," she called. Maester Luwin entered the room.

He bowed to Lady Stark. "It's time we reviewed the accounts, my lady. You'll want to know how much this royal visit has cost us," he announced.

"Talk to Vayon Poole about it. He's the Steward of Winterfell after all," she snapped back.

Gianna felt her heart break for the women. She had been in this dark room with her comatose son for so long, she was starting to lose touch with reality. Gianna reached out and grabbed her hand gently.

"Poole went South with Lord Stark weeks ago, my lady," she whispered.

Maester Luwin looked at her compassionately, "We need a new steward and there are several other appointments that require our immediate attention."

"I don't care about appointments!" Lady Stark yelled. She was nearly hysterical now.

A voice came from the doorway. "I'll make the appointments."

Gianna looked up to see her handsome fiancé in the doorway. He gave her a tired smile. Maester Luwin nodded. "Very good, my lord," he said and exited the room.

Gianna gave Robb a worried glance, and he nodded to indicate that he understood her concern. He walked over to the window and opened the shutters. Fresh air filtered into the room for the first time in days.

"When was the last time you left this room?" he asked his mother.

"I have to take care of him," she insisted.

"He's not going to die, Mother," said Robb.

Lady Stark looked to Gianna. "Do you think he's going to die?"

Gianna shook her head. "Apparently, not. Maester Luwin has said the most dangerous time has passed, and he should live."

"What if he's wrong? Bran needs me," she replied.

"Only the gods know for certain. All the rest of us can do is pray," Gianna told her.

At this, Lady Stark let out a wailing sob. The direwolves outside were still howling. Together it almost sounded like the woman and beasts were crying in harmony.

"Please close the windows! I can't stand it! Make them stop," Catelyn shouted. Robb walked to the window to close it, but he paused. "Fire!" he yelled.

Gianna walked over to where he stood. Sure enough in the distance one of the large wooden storage sheds was ablaze in the night.

Robb turned and grabbed her arms, "You two stay here. I'll come back," he ordered firmly.

However, as soon as he was out the door, Gianna crossed the room and exited as well. Dilara followed close behind.

Lady Stark stood to see out the window. She watched the huge flames engulf the building outside. Behind her, she heard footsteps.

"Robb sent you back?" she asked, assuming Gianna had returned.

"You're not supposed to be here," a low manly voice said. It definitely did not belong to Gianna. "No one is supposed to be here."

The voice sent chills up Lady Stark's spine. She turned slowly. Behind her stood a man with a hooded cloak pulled low over his face.

"It's a mercy. He's dead already," the man muttered darkly.

As he lunged for Bran, Lady Stark stepped between the two grabbing the blade's edge and pushing back with all her might.  
The man grabbed her hair and pushed her up against the wall. All that was between his blade and her neck was her hands. She felt the blade slice through her palms flesh, digging deeper and deeper until it hit bone.

Blood spurted and hit the walls and ground. The man spun her around and slammed her head against the wall. She slid to the floor.

She cried out as she saw the man turn back towards the bed. She saw him lunge, but it was somebody else's voice that shouted, "Idakōs!"

All of a sudden the room was filled with fur and blood, growls and screams. Dilara had grabbed the man's throat in her powerful jaws and ripped it out.

Catelyn felt blood splatter across her face. She wiped the warm, sticky liquid from her eyes and saw Gianna standing in the door. Staring at the now still corpse of the man.

"Keligon," she ordered, and Dilara padded back to her side, blood dripping from her mouth.

Suddenly, Gianna dropped to her knees. She brought her head down to her hands, and a long mournful wail left her lips.

Lady Stark felt her stomach drop. She looked up to the bed where Bran lay. She slowly stood and stepped over the body of the dead man. Lodged in Bran's chest, surrounded by dark red blood, was the assassin's dagger.

* * *

The women's sobs brought the men back to the room.

Robb screamed in anger when he saw the body, and it took three men to pull Lady Stark off of Bran's lifeless corpse.

The maids spent days cleaning the blood from the room, and the maester prepared the body for the burial.

Neither Gianna nor Lady Stark had spoken since the fateful night. Robb had tried endlessly to cheer Gianna up, but she had been avoiding him.

The Stark family was given no closure, as the identity of the now-dead assassin was still unknown. This was a fact that bothered Catelyn greatly. Who would want to murder a 10-year- old boy?

The day of the funeral, she walked to the eastern tower where Bran had fallen. She climbed the old, crumbling stairs and entered the turret room. The tower had been unused, left empty for years now. Now though, there were fresh footprints on the dirty ground, and the hay was scattered like there was some sort of brawl.

She walked to the window and looked down. How many times had she told Bran not to climb up the towers? That's when it caught her eye. A single, long golden hair stuck to the stone windowsill. She needed to tell the others.

* * *

After the burial, Catelyn gathered a group of seven people in the Godswood. Before her stood Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master at Arms. Beside him was Robb and Theon, and next to them stood Maester Luwin, Gianna, and for some reason...Artemis.

Lady Stark looked at the pretty green-eyed girl confused. Before she could speak, Gianna intervened.

"I'll be Lady of Winterfell someday, and Artemis is bound to be one of my most trusted confidants and advisors. I'd like to have her here with me, if it pleases my lady."

Lady Catelyn was too tired to argue.

"What I am about to tell you must remain between us," she began. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown."

Gianna agreed. "He was always sure-footed before," she told the group.

"Someone tried to kill him twice," Catelyn continued. "Why? Why murder an innocent child?"

"Unless he saw something he wasn't meant to see," Artemis injected. The group stood in silence.

"Saw what?" Theon asked.

"I don't know, but I would stake my life the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the Crown," Catelyn said.

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Gianna asked, as if the answer should be obvious. The rest of the party stared at her, waiting for an explanation. She sighed.

"It's too fine a weapon for such a man. The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragonbone. Someone gave it to him."

At this realization, Robb's anger burst forth. He punched the heart tree. "They come into our home and murder my brother? If it's war they want..."

Theon was behind him in that instant. "If it comes to that, you know I'll stand behind you."

"War?" Artemis scoffed. "What, is there going to be a battle in the Godswood?" she asked.

Gianna placed a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Too easily words of war become acts of war. We don't know the truth yet." She clarified.

The boys looked at the ladies sheepishly.

"Lord Stark must be told of this," Maester Luwin added.

Catelyn shook her head. "I don't trust a raven to carry these words."

"I'll ride to King's Landing," offered Robb.

"No," Gianna interjected, panic rising in her voice at the thought of Robb leaving.

"Gianna's right. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," Lady Stark agreed. "I will go myself."

"Mother, you can't."

"I must."

Maester Luwin held up a hand to silence the two. "I'll send Ser Rodrik with a squad of guardsmen to escort you."

Catelyn refused. "Too large a party attracts unwanted attention. I don't want the Lannisters to know I'm coming."

Finally, Ser Rodrik who had been silent during this meeting spoke up.

"Let me accompany you at least. The King's road can be a dangerous place for a woman alone."

Catelyn nodded and that was that. It was decided.

Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin escorted Lady Stark back to the castle to prepare for her trip, and Theon and Artemis left the Godswood whispering conspiratorially.

Gianna stayed behind staring into the reflective pond between the trees. Robb approached her and placed a gentle hand on her back.

Her eyes hadn't been the same since the night of Bran's murder. Before where there had always been a warm glow, there was now a raging fire.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"You know they say that every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin."

Robb nodded. "It's an old saying. It implies half of the Targaryen's were mad due to the inbreeding. But your mother was a Baratheon, you don't have to worry about that."

Gianna was quiet for a moment. "But my grandfather's father was married to his sister, what if it skips a few generations."

Robb laughed and grabbed her face in his hands. "You are perfect exactly the way you are. There is nothing wrong with you."

Gianna didn't smile.

"The other night, when I ordered Dilara to kill that man, I expected to feel something when he died. I should feel bad about what happened. I took a human life. ...But I don't," she said.

"He killed Bran, Gianna," said Robb.

Desperate to change the subject, he added, "Mother said you commanded her in Valyrian. You had Maester Luwin teach you then?"

Gianna shrugged. "Why shouldn't I speak the tongue of my forefathers?"

The couple stood together, not saying anything.

"There's a war coming, Robb." Gianna finally spoke. "I don't know when. I don't know who we'll be fighting, but it's coming."

Robb shook his head and looked at the girl, "And how do you know that?" he asked.

"The same way I know Daenerys will cross the Narrow Sea," she said. "I saw it in a dream."


	8. Chapter 8: Little Flower

_**Author's Note: A bit slow, but lots of character introductions in this one!**_

* * *

Kahlan sat with several other ladies of the court in the gardens of the Red Keep, the King's palace. They had arrived in the capital the day before, and all of them were feeling a bit weary.

The journey had been going smoothly until the final leg. Arya's direwolf, Nymeria, had bit Prince Joffrey under somewhat murky circumstances. Nymeria had run off, but the Queen still demanded justice for her son's injuries. As punishment, Sansa's direwolf, Lady, was killed in Nymeria's place instead.

Although the children disagreed on what truly happened, Kahlan was inclined to believe Arya, who insisted that Prince Joffrey was to blame for the events.

Since then, the Starks had been divided in King's Landing. Arya was mad at Sansa for not telling the truth. Sansa was mad at her father for allowing Lady to be executed, and Ned Stark was wondering how any man raised daughters and stayed sane.

Kahlan decided she should find the elder Stark girl, and make sure she was doing alright.

She stood from the bench and excused herself. The ladies nodding to her politely. They had been very pleasant, but a bit dull. Many had complimented her on her beauty and her dresses.

Kahlan began to walk down the pebbled pathways of the garden. It didn't take long before she saw Sansa a little ways down the trail.

"Pardon me, sir," the girl was mumbling.

Standing in front of Sansa was Sandor Clegane, better know as the Hound.

Next to Clegane, Sansa looked like a tiny china doll. The man was huge and heavily-muscled. He had grey eyes, chiseled features and high cheekbones. The right side of his face was actually quite handsome. Unfortunately, the left side was quite a different story. That side was burned black and pocked with craters and deep cracks and scars. He brushed his long dark hair so that it covered as much of that side of his face as possible.

Next to Clegane stood a hunched over, surly looking man.

"Do I frighten you so much girl, or is it him there making you shake?" Clegane asked Sansa, gesturing to his companion. "He frightens me too. Look at that face."

"I'm sorry if I offended you sir," she whimpered to Clegane's companion.

He just glared back.

"Why won't he speak to me?" she asked.

"He hasn't been very talkative these last twenty years since the Mad King had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers. Speaks damn well with his sword though," Clegane replied.

Before they could scare the girl any further, Kahlan moved to intervene.

"That's Ser Ilyn Payne, Sansa." Kahlan explained, stepping between the redheaded teen and the two men. "He's the King's Justice, the royal executioner."

Sansa looked at her gratefully and clung to her arm.

"Gentlemen," Kahlan continued. "Surely, we've kept you long enough." Her voice was firm.

Clegane stared at her a long time. There was a look in his eye Kahlan couldn't quite place, but she stared back defiantly.

"Perhaps you're not quite as delicate as you look little flower," he said. The men bowed slightly to the ladies before continuing down the path.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sansa gasped for air. Tears formed in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated.

Kahlan held her and stroked her hair gently. "Shhhh...it's alright, love." she soothed. "You're not hurt then? Just scared?"

Sansa nodded.

"Good." Kahlan said. "Go back to your rooms. Have Septa make you a hot tea."

Sansa scurried away.

"I'll have to look out for her while we're here," Kahlan thought aloud. "I can't forget how alone she truly is."

Kahlan heard a soft chuckle from behind her. "And who is going to look out for you?" the voice said.

She spun around, her light blue silk dress swinging. A strand of blonde hair fell out of her braid and into her face at the movement.

Directly behind her stood Jaime Lannister in all his golden glory. Kahlan felt her breath catch in her throat. Jaime reached forward and tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. His smile was soft which made Kahlan swoon, but it was also smug and arrogant, which infuriated her greatly.

"Nice dress," Jaime commented.

Kahlan could tell he was playing with her, and she wasn't going to let him know the effect he had on her. He certainly didn't need the ego boost.

"Very handsome armor," Kahlan replied. "Not a scratch on it," she noted.

Jaime smirked again. This time the cockiness was more evident than before.

"I know. People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss," he said.

Kahlan scoffed. "You've chosen your opponents wisely then."

Jaime's smile faded a bit, but bounced back quickly. "I have a knack for it," he said. "Pretty girls like you never could resist the knight in shining armor."

Kahlan cocked her head to the side, like a curious puppy. A sly grin appeared on her face. "Do you know what that really means? Knight in shining armor?"

Lord Jaime's cocky smirk never wavered. "Enlighten me," he said.

"A knight in shining armor never did anything for anybody. He never fought. A knight in dented, scraped armor, now that's what I want," Kahlan replied.

That wiped the smug smile off Jaime's face. He clearly had underestimated the girl as just another pretty face. But Kahlan had manipulated men far greater than Jaime Lannister before. Beautiful and clever, she was born for a place like King's Landing.

"Well, good luck with that," he growled, before storming off.

Kahlan could have kicked herself. Why was she instigating arguments with the Kingslayer? He got his nickname for stabbing the Mad King in the back for heaven's sake! And he had made a good point. She had more enemies than allies in King's Landing already. She didn't need to be making any more.

She continued reprimanding herself as she walked through the garden, eventually following the winding path back towards the castle. _I should make sure Sansa made it back safely,_ she thought.

However, before she made it to the exit she heard somebody moving through the bushes on the other side of the hedges.

She paused before turning around and stepping through the growth.

On the other side she saw Arya, playing knight alone in a small stone pavilion. Kahlan began to turn back before doing a double-take. The ten-year-old Stark girl was playing with a very real, very sharp sword.

"Arya!" Kahlan shouted.

The girl looked at her wide-eyed and tried to hide the blade behind her back.

"Whose sword is that?" Kahlan asked.

"Mine." Arya replied quickly. The girl took a step back. She clearly wasn't going to relinquish the weapon easily.

Kahlan peered at the instrument closely. "I know that maker's mark. That was made by the Winterfell blacksmith. Where did you get that?"

Arya said nothing. Merely gazed back up at her with large pleading eyes.

"Give it here. It's not a toy, Arya. Little ladies shouldn't play with swords," Kahlan chastised.

"I wasn't playing, and I don't want to be a lady!" Arya shouted back.

Kahlan sighed and looked at the tiny girl.

"It was a gift," Arya said. "I'm trying to learn. I named it Needle."

Kahlan was quiet for a moment before nodding. "Very well," she said. "I'll have to tell your father though."

Before the younger girl could protest, Kahlan held up a hand. "He'll let you keep it, I'm sure. But, if you're going to own a sword, you'd better know how to use it."

Without saying another word, Kahlan turned back toward the castle. She knew watching her younger cousins in King's Landing would be a big responsibility, but she had underestimated the girls' knack for getting into trouble.

She shook her head and thought, _What have I gotten myself into?_

She walked under the large archway of the castle and turned into the hallway leading past the kitchens. She had almost made it to the stairs leading to the Starks' chambers when she was intercepted yet again.

This time it was by one of the Queen's ladies. The same dark-haired girl Kahlan had seen in Winterfell. She remembered that her name was Makaria.

"Come with me," Makaria whispered. She grabbed Kahlan's arm and began leading her down the hall.

Kahlan shook her off. "Excuse me, where do you think you're taking me?" she asked indignantly.

Makaria gritted her teeth. "Just come with me. Lord and Lady Stark need you." Kahlan didn't budge. "Lady Stark is in Winterfell."

Makaria gave the blonde beauty a pointed look, but said nothing. Confused but intrigued, Kahlan followed her down the hall and out a small side entrance usually reserved for the servants' use.

The girl led her down the road towards the center of town. Kahlan paused before exiting the gates. She was never allowed outside the walls of the Red Keep without an escort. She wanted to tell Makaria to wait, but she was already several paces ahead.

Kahlan made the decision to follow the strange lady. They walked a little ways, before Makaria stopped in front of the whorehouse run by the King's Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish. Kahlan halted and stared at the girl angrily.

"What sort of joke are you playing leading a lady to a place like this?" Kahlan seethed.

Makaria just rolled her eyes. "Go inside."

Before Kahlan could scream at the girl, she was already walking away. Only a moment passed before she had disappeared into the crowd.

Kahlan stood there for a moment, unsure. Eventually she swallowed her pride and walked through the small entryway.

Moans and giggles were the first thing she heard. Inside the brothel gorgeous naked women lay across the laps of powerful men. Many of whom Kahlan recognized from the castle.

She spun around to face the wall. If anyone spotted her here, she could kiss her chances of finding a good husband goodbye.

A man's hand grabbed her own.

"So sorry, I was actually just leaving..." she stammered out. She was mortified. She'd kill the Makaria girl when she had the chance.

"This way, dear," a smooth voice reassured.

Kahlan looked up to see Lord Baelish standing beside her. The small man ran his free hand through his dark hair that was speckled with salt and pepper strands. His deep brown eyes looked at her mischievously.

"What is the meaning of this, Lord Baelish?" she asked.

"Please," he pleaded. "Follow me. The Starks are waiting for you."

Kahlan just shook her head in bewilderment, but followed the small dark-haired man up a back stairwell.

Inside the room at the top of the stairs was in fact, Lord and Lady Stark.

"Aunt Catelyn!" Kahlan exclaimed, flying over to the red-headed woman. She wrapped her arms around her neck in a great hug. "I'm so sorry to hear about Bran," she whispered. "But what are you doing here?"

Kahlan pulled away and looked at her aunt, who had tears in her eyes.

"I was about to explain that, but how did you know I was here? And how did you know, Petyr?"

Lord Baelish smiled an impish grin. "A dear friend told me," he said.

Behind them, Lord Varys entered the room.

Lord Varys was the Master of Whisperers in Kings Landing. The plump, bald eunuch was often called the Spider, because the web of spies he commanded all across Westeros and Essos.

Kahlan had heard people say Varys was possibly the only man more skilled at manipulation than even Lord Baelish.

He walked over to Lady Stark and grasped her hands gently. The wounds were still healing from her fight with Bran's assassins. "Your poor hands," Varys murmured.

Kahlan hadn't noticed the bandages before. Was Bran's murder the reason Lady Stark had come to King's Landing?

Lady Stark pulled her hands away from Varys. "How did you know I was coming?"

He smiled. "Knowledge is my trade, my lady. Did you bring the dagger with you by any chance?"

The room was silent. Nobody was expecting Varys to have as much information as he did. Even Kahlan had only known about the events that transpired that night from a letter Gianna had written her shortly after. Had Varys intercepted that note somehow?

Varys caught sight of their worried glances and spoke up.

"My little birds are everywhere. Even in the north. They whisper to me the strangest stories," he said.

Lady Stark pulled the assassin's dagger from her robe and handed it to the Spider. "Do you know whose dagger this is?" she asked.

"I must admit I do not," replied Lord Varys sheepishly. Kahlan felt her stomach drop and saw the disappointed looks on the Starks' faces. They had thought surely the Spider would have answers for them.

Then, a dark chuckle echoed across the room.

"Well, well. This is a historic day," Lord Baelish interrupted. "Something you don't know that I do. There's only one dagger like this in all the Seven Kingdoms...it's mine."

The group looked at him in shock. He quickly continued.

"At least it was, until the tournament on Prince Joffrey's last nameday. I lost this dagger in a bet to Tyrion Lannister, the Imp."

"I swear I'll..." Lord Stark started.

"Pardon, my lord. I know how devastating this loss has been to all of us," Kahlan interrupted. "But surely the mere suggestion that the Queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be considered treason."

"We have proof. We have the blade," argued Ned.

"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him. The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to Gianna," Kahlan explained.

The room grew silent again. Catelyn turned to her husband.

"Petyr has promised to help me find the truth," she told him. "He's like a little brother to me, Ned. He would never betray my trust."

Kahlan's face scrunched. From what she'd heard about the Master of Coin, that sounded far-fetched.

Ned Stark nodded to Lord Baelish in gratitude. Without saying anything else, he threw an arm around Catelyn and turned to walk out of the room. Lady Stark gestured for Kahlan to follow them.

She began to, but before she left she turned back to Lord Baelish.

"It's very generous of you to offer to help the Starks, my lord," she said skeptically. "You sound like a true friend for them to count on."

Lord Baelish's dark eyes never left her blue ones.

"Don't tell anyone," he muttered darkly. "I have a reputation to maintain."

Kahlan began to turn to follow the Starks, but Baelish's voice stopped her again. "You're a smart girl, Kahlan," he said.

She looked back at him. "You'd do well to remember that, Lord Baelish," she said. With that, she turned and walked down the dark staircase and out the back door. Outside, Lord and Lady Stark were waiting for her.

"I know the Lannisters did it. In my bones, I know it," said Catelyn.

Ned reached for her hand. "I know love, but Kahlan was right. I can't do anything without proof."

"And if you find the proof?" she asked.

"Then I bring it to Robert and hope he's still the man I once knew," he assured her. The trio sat in solemn silence for a moment, before Kahlan spoke again.

"I wish you could see the girls," she told Lady Stark.

"Me too, sweet love. But it's too dangerous," she replied.

Kahlan smiled at her sadly. "I'll leave you two to your goodbyes then," she said, wrapping her arms around her aunt in another warm embrace. "Be careful on the road, auntie."


	9. Chapter 9: Miles, Not Myriam

The man beneath Miles trembled, as she slowly moved up and down on his stiff member. She began to rock her hips back and forth in a rhythmic motion, eliciting a soft moan from her companion.

The man's name was Reynold Schmidt, and he had no idea what he had gotten himself into when he agreed to bring her home with him.

Miles weaved her fingers through his hair and pulled hard. Reynold bit his lip in pleasure. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her rear, and flipped her on her back. He hovered above her, before burying himself deep inside of her again.

"You are a dangerous little minx, aren't you?" he purred to her. Sweat was dripping down his face now as he rocked back and forth harder and faster than before.

"You have no idea," Miles whispered back.

The man tightened his hand over her throat. Miles tried to gasp a bit, but no air entered her lungs. She flushed at the realization that she quite liked the rough technique. Just as the need for air was beginning to get uncomfortable, the pressure was gone.

He was biting her ear now, and growling. Waves of pleasure rolled through her body, but she fought to keep her mind clear.

Another few thrusts and she was pushed over the edge, tightening around him. A moment later, he followed her lead spilling his seed over her bare stomach.

He mumbled something about cleaning up the mess before shuffling over to grab a rag for her.

Miles had to admit, the sex wasn't bad. It was unfortunate however that he was such a homely looking creature, with his stout figure and uncombed hair.

Reynold crawled back into bed with her, before promptly rolling over and passing out. Moments later Miles was walking briskly out of the man's small home.

She had almost made it a full block before she heard him shouting behind her.

"Stop, thief!" he yelled.

She frowned. _So close_ , she thought before sprinting down a narrow alleyway. She drew her green scarf tighter around her face. She felt the coins, silverware, and gold pocket watch she had stolen jingling in her pocket.

She had noticed the pocket watch a few days before. She had been lurking by the docks, hoping to swipe some goods that came off the ships, when she saw Reynold looking at it.

She knew immediately it must have been expensive. It looked like it was custom made with real gold.

She began to watch Reynold more closely after that. She learned he was a beer merchant, and ironically also a drunk. It was pure luck that he turned out to be a complete idiot too. What more could a thief want from a victim? It wasn't hard to lure him to his bedchamber after a few drinks at the local pub.

Now the portly man was chasing her down the streets.

This wasn't the first time one of her plots had gone awry, but luckily she knew the maze of buildings and streets that made up King's Landing like the back of her hand. As she sprinted past the market place, she grabbed a loaf of bread off a cart while the merchant was distracted. That would be dinner later.

She didn't slow down for several blocks, until she was sure she had outrun her pursuer. However, only seconds later, she hard him yelling again.

"I'll have your hands for a trophy, street rat!"

She whipped around, eyes wide. He was just a little ways away now. His sword was drawn and there was fire in his eyes.

She turned and saw a rusty pipe that snaked up the side of a decaying building beside her. She began to clamber up it.

When she reached the rooftop, she peered back down over the edge. Reynold was below her now, looking angry and confused by her sudden disappearance.

Miles took a step backward, but as she did her foot kicked a pebble that plummeted down to the ground, landing just in front of the man.

He looked up and saw her. "There you are!" he yelled.

As he began to climb up the side of the building, Miles looked for an exit. There was a clothes line one floor below, that attached to another building across the road.

She quickly removed her scarf and scrambled down to the line. She wrapped the scarf along the wire, but paused to look up behind her. The man was now just above her, glaring at her belligerently. Before he could climb down to her, Miles took a deep breath and pushed off the edge of the building.

She slid along the wire to the building across the street, and then began to deftly climb down to the street below.

"You won't get away so easy!" she hear him screaming.

 _You thought that was easy?_ she thought to herself.

She rushed down the street, until she came to a familiar storefront.

"Gendry!" she yelled, quickly ducking behind the counter of the small blacksmith's shop.

The handsome young blacksmith's apprentice entered the room. When he saw the girl hiding behind the counter, he sighed heavily.

"Always one step ahead of the law, eh Myriam?"

Miles grinned. Gendry was the only one who called her by her birth name, despite her constant protests.

"I only steal what I can't afford," Miles offered.

"That's everything." Gendry said, rolling his blue-gray eyes. "I swear you're solely responsible for our rising crime rates. I'd blame bad parenting, but seeing as you're an orphan..."

Miles laughed and reached over to ruffle her frenemy's dark black hair. "You know you love me, Gendry," she said.

He eyed her wearily. "Isn't it a little early for you to be getting into trouble already anyway?" "You're only in trouble if you get caught," Miles retorted.

She had barely finished her statement when Reynold tore through the doorway of the shop. His bright red face turning a deeper shade of scarlet upon seeing Miles.

She looked at Gendry. "Okay, I'm in trouble," she admitted.

Reynold lunged for her, but she quickly jumped over the counter and out the back door. She could heard the man following closely behind, knocking over helmets and weaponry as he crashed through the shop.

The alleyway behind the blacksmith's was dark and abandoned. Miles began sprinting toward the sunlit street, but before she could reach the corner she was slammed into the building hard.

She grunted from the pain. Reynold's hand was on her throat again, but this time in a much less enjoyable manner. He lifter her off the ground.

"I'll take back what you stole," he whispered through gritted teeth. "But not before I rip you open."

He raised his blade, but before he could strike Miles threw her knee into his groin with all her strength.

The man doubled over in pain, giving Miles the perfect opportunity to disarm him. As soon as she felt the warm handle of the knife in her hand she spun Reynold around and shoved it deep into his jugular.

Blood spurted onto her face while the man gurgled on the red liquid. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped lifeless to the ground.

Miles took several deep breaths. She stared down at her victim before wiping the blood off her face with her tunic. She turned around and made her way back out of the alley. She saw the sunlight of the nearby road and could hear the laughter coming out of the whorehouse across the street. She was steps away from freedom, but once again was shoved into the brick wall of a building.

"I saw what you did," the new assailant hissed at her. She looked up at the worn face of a large man with long brown hair. Something shiny caught her eye on his chest. It was his pin.

 _Oh crap_ , Miles thought. _This was the hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark._ "Please sir," she begged. "Mercy."

He glared down at her, but something in her eyes must have spoken to him. Eventually his look softened.

"Did he hurt you?" Ned Stark asked.

He hadn't. Miles knew. He was merely a convenient target for a poor and hungry orphan girl to take advantage of.

She wasn't going to tell Stark that though.

She nodded.

"I'll pretend I didn't see this," Lord Stark said.

Miles breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, my lord."

Lord Stark interrupted. "But as repayment, you owe me a favor."

 _Of course,_ thought Miles. _Always a catch._

* * *

Whatever Miles had thought Lord Stark's favor would be, this wasn't it.

Mere hours had passed since their altercation in the alleyway, and now she was standing in a large airy room in the Red Keep. She had never thought in a million years she'd be in the home of the royal family, let alone as a guest.

Lord Stark had given her a new sword as well.

He had also asked if she'd like a dress, which Miles scoffed at. Perhaps, had her parents not died when she was young, Myriam would have worn dresses. Miles, however, did not.

She weighed the balance of the new blade in her hand. It was exceptionally well-crafted. Her father had taught her how to fight, but only the basics really. After all, he was only a lowly barkeep when he was alive. Miles had become an expert on her own. She had trained every day, no exceptions. After her parents passed, it become crucial to her survival. The world was no place for a women alone.

The sound of the large oak door creaking open tore her from her thoughts. A very small boyish-looking girl entered the room.

"You're late. Tomorrow you'll be on time," Miles barked at the child.

"Are you my new dancing instructor?" the young girl asked.

"My name is Miles Romero. And I'm here as a favor to your father. I'm going to teach you how to use that skinny little blade of yours."

The girl stared at her for a long moment before a large smile lit up her face.

"I'm Arya," she said.


End file.
